Learning the Dark Ways

Time had passed.

Years, maybe. The days had begun to blur together.

I was no longer the helpless infant that I had been when I first opened my eyes in this world. I was six years old now, my body stronger, more agile. My limbs no longer wobbled when I stood, and the clumsiness I had once struggled with was slowly fading. The hours spent secretly training had not been in vain.

But I wasn't satisfied.

Even at this age, I could feel the weight of my limitations. The disciples in the courtyard were still leagues ahead of me, their movements precise, their strikes devastating. But at least now I knew the source of their power. I had spent years watching, listening, and learning in silence.

However, watching wasn't enough. I needed more.

I'd overheard snippets of conversation between the older disciples. They spoke of the Clan Library, a place where the true secrets of the Dark Clan's techniques were stored—powerful techniques only accessible to those chosen by the elders.

I knew I wasn't ready to access those secrets. I wasn't even close to being allowed inside the library. But if I was going to get stronger, I had to start somewhere.

And so, one night, while the house was quiet, I made my decision.

I slipped out of my room and into the dark hallways, moving carefully to avoid making noise. My body was still small, but I had practiced enough to move quietly. I knew of a small room where the lower-ranked disciples often left their scrolls and books—lesser techniques, but still valuable for someone like me.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, and the room was exactly as I expected—dusty and disorganized, with old scrolls and papers scattered about. I sifted through the clutter, my heart racing, until I found it. A small, worn book, hidden beneath a pile of old parchment.

The moment I opened it, I knew it was important.

The book wasn't about the Dark Clan's most powerful techniques, but it contained the basic forms that every disciple had to master before they could advance. It was exactly what I needed—a foundation.

The Shadow Stance was the first form detailed in the book. Unlike the rigid postures of the orthodox sects that i read about, the Shadow Stance was low, fluid, meant to keep the practitioner hidden and unpredictable. The text explained that the purpose of the stance was not to defend, but to create opportunities for surprise attacks. In the darkness, with the right timing, even a weaker fighter could overcome a stronger opponent.

I tried dropping into the stance right there in the dusty room, my knees bending low to the ground. It was surprisingly uncomfortable at first—my thighs burned from the effort, and my balance wobbled, but I forced myself to hold it. I had seen the disciples maintain their stances for hours during training sessions, their movements always smooth and deliberate. If I was going to reach their level, I would need to endure.

Every fiber of my being protested, but I kept the stance.

Next was the Serpent's Strike. This movement was designed to be fast, precise, and deadly. It wasn't about strength—it was about accuracy. A strike to the right point at the right time could cripple an opponent before they even realized what had happened. The diagrams showed the ideal target areas: the neck, the joints, the heart.

My hands trembled slightly as I attempted the strike, imagining an invisible opponent in front of me. The movement felt awkward, my muscles stiff from holding the stance for too long. But I could see how the technique was supposed to work—fast, sharp, efficient. It wasn't a wild swing of strength; it was a calculated blow to a vital area.

But the technique that fascinated me the most was the Nightfall Form. It was more than just a movement—it was a mindset. The practitioner would blend into the shadows, using the terrain and environment to their advantage. It was the very embodiment of the Dark Clan's philosophy: to win by any means necessary, even if it meant using underhanded tactics.

I read through the form's description over and over, my eyes glued to the diagrams. The Nightfall Form was the most advanced of the techniques in the book, and I knew that I wasn't ready for it yet. My body wasn't agile enough, and my control over my breathing still lacked the precision needed to maintain the form.

But I was determined to master it one day.

Over the next few weeks, I practiced the Shadow Stance and the Serpent's Strike every night. I would sneak out of my room as soon as I was sure the house was quiet, finding an empty corner of the courtyard to train in secret. The cold night air bit at my skin, but I didn't care.

The more I practiced, the more my body began to adapt. The burning in my thighs from the Shadow Stance grew less intense, and I could hold the stance for longer without losing balance. My strikes with the Serpent's Strike became faster, more precise. Each night, I pushed myself further, testing the limits of my endurance.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that it still wasn't enough.

The techniques I had learned were basic. Foundational, yes, but they lacked the raw power and finesse that I had seen in the higher-ranked disciples. I needed more.

One night, after hours of training, I collapsed onto the cold stone floor, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My muscles ached, my limbs felt heavy, but my mind was sharp. I stared up at the night sky, my thoughts racing.

What am I missing?

I had the basic forms down, but there was something I hadn't yet grasped—something that separated the powerful from the weak in this world. Was it the Qi that the disciples spoke of? The flow of energy that powered their strikes, that made their movements seem effortless?

I clenched my fists, frustration welling up inside me. I could mimic their movements all I wanted, but without understanding the source of their power, I would never truly be able to compete.

I needed to figure out how to tap into that energy.

The following night, as I practiced the Serpent's Strike for what felt like the hundredth time, I tried something different. I focused not just on the movement itself, but on my breathing—on the flow of air in and out of my lungs.

The disciples always spoke of how important breath control was in channeling Qi. I didn't fully understand it, but it was a start.

I inhaled slowly, trying to center myself, and then lashed out with the strike.

Something shifted.

The strike felt... sharper. More precise. My muscles didn't protest as much, and the movement felt smoother, as though the energy I had been missing was finally starting to reveal itself.

It wasn't much, but it was progress.

I practiced the strike again, this time focusing even more intently on my breathing. Each inhale was slow and controlled, each exhale timed with the motion of the strike.

And with each repetition, the movement grew stronger, faster.

But even as I made progress, I knew that I was still far from where I needed to be. The Nightfall Form remained elusive, and I could barely hold the stance for more than a few seconds before my legs gave out. My breathing, while improving, was still unrefined.

There was still so much I didn't know, so much I couldn't learn from just a single book.

The Clan Library—the true source of the Dark Clan's power—was still out of reach, locked behind layers of secrecy and tradition. I wasn't ready to enter it, not yet. But one day, I would be.

For now, I would continue to train, to push myself further every night.

Because I knew that if I wanted to survive in this world, I needed to become something more than just a servant.

I needed to become powerful.